


Butlers of the Caribbean

by SebasuchansKitten



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebasuchansKitten/pseuds/SebasuchansKitten
Summary: A pirate who wishes for the infamy of ruling the seas. A naval officer determined to hang every last pirate by the neck. A cursed captain filled with macabre lunacy in place of his missing heart. A menacing lord who will stop at nothing to get what he believes is his. And two lovers desperate to come together when the fates have other plans in mind. Many destinies entwined with one another through the sea itself.Entwined, but never joined.(Kuroshitsuji altered version of Pirates of the Caribbean)
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Ciel smoothed the stiff fabric of her dress down, the action being utterly pointless as said fabric was stubborn enough to refuse to budge. The shimmering material blended a dirty ivory with a gaudy gold, the aurelian filigree glistening in the torchlights of Tortuga. Her corset was laced extraordinarily tight this evening, and her breasts looked voluptuous, though the cleavage was cheekily concealed below the neckline. It would be obvious to any man that she certainly wasn't a noble lady, but she appeared much more appealing than the common whores who lined these walkways. The semblance of a woman mattered little to the men here; rather, it mattered very little when dealing with the likes of pirates.

Wearing a dress and proper corset was a cinch for someone with such a small frame as Ciel's, and, frankly, skirts were certainly a more freeing garment. It was the tight bun that gripped her hair to her crown with a ferocity that made being a woman her least favorite quality, and she still winced whenever her neck turned a bit too far at an angle, sending screaming ribbons of protest down her scalp. Stray pieces threatened to fall out of style; a sign that the hairdresser was either in a hurry or inexperienced or perhaps both, but Ciel felt that the minor flaws only added to her allure. Men loved ladies who were meek and innocent. Pirates were no different.

This man was nothing close to a pirate, though he likely pretended to possess the audacity of one. What women would fail to be impressed by a man who stared death in the eye and attempted to parry away anyhow? Who could resist a brave soul who crossed the perilous seas and still had enough courage left to face the atrocious creatures the untouched world knew as pirates? Why, that would make any lady tremble with delight, whore or otherwise. It was too bad that those tales were likely -- no, _indisputably_ false. Ciel could discern with one gaze that this man didn't own the dexterity required to keep up with pirates, nor the brains for swordsmanship. If he had ever came in contact with pirates -- which she knew he hadn't -- he unquestionably would have already died -- _which he hadn't_ \-- for he was cackling within earshot of her now.

Ciel brushed her way through packed, grimy bodies who whooped and hollered and drank and sang. The countless times that she had been in this tavern, she very rarely saw a familiar face again. That was the beauty of Tortuga, the mystique, the intrigue, which was why the situation was especially dangerous for this man; he was a familiar face to her, a familiar face actively choosing to continually visit an island ran by pirates. He was ignorant to how quickly his life could be severed. Some men believed that money would grant them safety and security, but they forget that pirates are no mere men. Pirates would not be bought. Pirates would take, whether the objects in question be money or lives.

He already had a few whores surrounding him, but that did not deter Ciel from her goal. The whores in Tortuga were sought after simply because pirates frequently went months without seeing women in quite some time, therefore their standards fell lower than the necklines on the ladies' dresses. This man, although seemingly content with the company of whores, maintained better balance on land than he did at sea; another telltale sign that he did not belong here, and that his standards would be easily manipulated.

Ciel trailed a tantalizing hand over his shoulder from behind, circling to his left side as his head snapped toward her in attention. He looked Ciel up and down unabashedly, and the three other women in front of him practically hissed at their territory being threatened. Unfortunately, they had no chance, because similar to the rest of the Tortugan prostitutes, wrinkles lined their faces and crinkled their cleavage unattractively. Ciel was still a ripe age, her face as smooth as the day she slid from the womb and her cleavage hidden strategically; men always lusted after the goods they could not see.

"Forgive me, you seemed to be having such a good time," Ciel chirped flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes to gauge his reaction. He gulped down a nervous swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in the same rhythm of his giant gut bouncing. His eyes were already glazed over with liquor; to Ciel's satisfaction, these women had buttered him up for her.

"W-who are y-you?" He gave an unsatisfying slur, his speech halfway between drowning in saliva and choked by a belch. Ciel forced herself to give a dazzling smile anyway, her dainty arm slipping through his swollen, pudgy one. She let her fingers drift up and down his bicep, her nails curling in excitement when she felt him shudder with gooseflesh.

"Take a walk with me? It's far too loud in here," Ciel whined innocently, and the man could not have nodded quicker enough. A sly smile curled her lips as she turned him toward the door, his rotund body swaying unsteadily in his drunken state. The whores made sure to call a few obscene names after her, but Ciel refused to pay them any more attention. She had already won.

Exiting the tavern prompted Ciel to suck in a breath of fresh air; she hadn't realized how much she had missed the rapidly cooling night until she had been stuck in that stuffy, sweltering tavern. Who would've thought that the smell of unwashed bodies, unhealthy livestock, fresh _and_ aging sewage would be a welcomed reprieve to her nose. Although, she had caught a slight buzz from breathing in the strong scent of alcohol in her endeavor, and she missed that fading sensation very much.

The first paces of their stroll proved to be difficult ones, and Ciel had to repeatedly tug and pull the man in various directions to prevent him from falling onto the ground or on top of her. She hoped that the chill in the air would assist in sobering him up a bit, and if not, she'd simply force his head down into the well until he gave her what she was looking for. Ciel preferred to complete her missions by seduction, however; it was less conspicuous and allowed her to blend in much more effortlessly. No one suspected a frail lady next to a headstrong man, and if someone did, they'd likely be too drunk to remember the face of a random woman taking a random man around Tortuga. Escapades were far too common here to be considered a threat, and these passersby were pirates, anyway. If Ciel didn't connive her way with these men, then someone else certainly would in her place.

"Who a-are you?" The man hiccupped his question again, placing his free hand atop his ever growing belly while Ciel kept protective hold on his opposite one.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, leaning in close to his ear to whisper. _"Cielle,"_ she breathed, being sure to accentuate the last syllable of her name. It sounded more exotic that way. No man ever resisted it.

 _"Cielle,"_ he repeated, a tremble running through his body in delight. Ciel smirked self-assuredly, her hand loosening its grip when his gait eventually began to straighten out. She glanced up at the sky, cocking her head as she observed the twinkling stars in the ink of night. They didn't sparkle as impressively on land.

"Been a while since I've had a young filly like y-yourself," he mumbled, his words still swimming in the back of his throat and not quite reaching his tongue. Ciel turned her gaze back to him and reinforced her focus on the current situation.

"You're not a p-pirate, are you?" She stuttered, her free arm wrapping around her thin waist protectively. "I'm so tired of being taken advantage of by pirates."

"No!" He proclaimed immediately, his sausage fingers covering her hand with his own and patting them reassuringly. "Not a pirate. I'm a-" his words cut off with a guttural belch that ripped through the air. "Merchant. Just a merchant."

"A merchant?" Ciel's eyes lit up in awe, her blue irises sparkling with such depth as if the sea itself blessed them. In a way, it had. "You must deal with pirates every day!"

He nodded with false pride, his double chin jiggling with the motion. A scowl threatened to grace Ciel's lips when she saw dried dribbles and crumbs that had nested in his graying facial hair. It wasn't out of the norm for the scum of Tortuga, but she had never been a fan of facial hair. "I've sank a few ships on my own, you bet. Drowned every one of those filthy pirates."

Now that was the boldest lie to ever tickle Ciel's ears. She was genuinely shocked at his nonchalance manner of speaking about such a thing. That kind of talk was a guaranteed death sentence in Tortuga. She glanced around to ensure that the various people they'd glided past were either wrapped up in their own conversations or unconsciously drunk on the side of the path. He seemed like he couldn't care less, which surprised her even more.

"Hm, well," she cleared her throat, smiling as she attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere. "I hadn't a clue there were trade routes near here. I have yet to see a trade ship sail past this port."

The man shook his head with a grin as he tucked his hand into his jacket, his enthusiasm for proving her wrong overtaking him. He pulled out a piece of parchment paper and waggled it in front of her eyes, the rectangle folded in a perfect, crisp pleat. "Never used to be. New trade route, appointed by King George himself."

Ciel regarded him doubtfully, a dainty eyebrow arching up toward her hairline. "Now, Sir, please do not take offense to this, but I have a hard time believing that I've been acquainted with anyone who has ties to King George, let alone someone in _Tortuga_ claiming to have his favor."

He placed the document into her hand smugly, gesturing for her to read it. She curled her fingers around it hesitantly, cradling it with fragility as if it were an infant in her arm. He again nodded for her to indulge in its contents, and she slowly pulled the pleats apart, letting the paper reveal its information to only her eyes. They drank up the content eagerly.

"Why, this is a complete map of all the trade routes of England," Ciel gasped softly, and her counterpart continued to nod, his eyes crinkled shut in pride. She glanced at the detailed outline once again, noting the signature in the bottom corner, followed by a neatly pressed seal. It was an official document, although Ciel never doubted it would be.

"Oh my!" Ciel cried, her balance failing her as she tipped over, tripping over her own two feet. In a rush of gravity, the heavy man next to her took an awful tumble at the sudden motion, his ass hitting the ground first before he wobbled and his chest planted itself in the dirt, as well. "Oh, I am so sorry!" She exclaimed, her fingers grasping handfuls of her flowing skirts. "I'll go get you some help."

Ciel promptly turned on her heel and darted back the way they had came. She could hear the man weakly crying for her to come back but she would do no such thing. Instead, she pushed herself to run faster, her hands keeping her skirt hoisted so as not to tangle her legs in the fabric. Individuals stepped out of her way as she passed but they hardly spared a curious glance in her frantic direction; sights like these barely touched the realm of unusual.

The dark shadows of ships filled her vision as she approached the docks, the soft sea breeze cutting through the riggings and twirling through the strands of her hair. Ciel persevered forward but she closed her eyes, indulging in the smell of salt and the sensation of ocean mist greeting her face. Tortuga made her feel homesick, and she was dying to get home.

Every pirate's ship had some impressive quality to it, and to insult his ship was worse than insulting his mother. Any experienced pirate would know this fact, but that didn't stop them from believing that their ship was the mightiest of all. Ciel was an exception in this case. Ciel knew _for certain_ which ship dominated the sea, and it wasn't any of the vessels bathed in the shroud of night that she had trailed past.

Darker than the endless span of space itself, some said. Predacious enough to send the creatures of these waters back to the depths for fear of their own souls. It sailed with no boundaries, it would be commanded by no mere man. The fleetness of a memory and with the silence of a determined assassin; this was no simple ship. No, she was more than a ship. She was a being.

Without knowing where to spot her, many would glance over her silhouette unknowingly. She blended in with nightfall as if they were a knight and shield, wielding and protecting one another equally, and that benefitted both parties in the end. She was there to some, but nonexistent to the world. Ciel was thankful that she fell into the first category.

The crew had been waiting on deck expectantly when Ciel boarded, and their eyes barely shone through the darkness as they glanced her way. She took a long look around, observing every pair of pirate eyes that had fell upon her. In one quick motion, she dove her hand into her cleavage and pulled out the finely pressed document, holding it above her head in victory. Cheers instantly engulfed the ship's presence, the crew dancing about and thrusting their fists into the air with the enthusiasm that only pirates possessed in their blood. She watched them from her stance, her lip quirked in confidence, when one of the crewmates approached her.

"Not sure how you do it, Cap'n, but ye manage ev'ry time."

Ciel crooked his head to regard him, his natural voice spilling from his lips. "Ye think I wear dresses for fun?"

The crew all gave a unanimous chuckle at that, and Ciel cut them off by raising his voice louder. "Weigh anchor, ye grimy dogs! Set sail for the routes by which they be trading, and we be taking!"

Another agreeable _"huzzah!"_ was chanted by the crew, and in no time the ship was leaving the firelight of Tortuga in a small, forgotten heap, trading the island of filth for the ever welcoming laps of the water. Ciel absentmindedly floated around the deck while his crew bustled to their stations, his thin arm stretching up to his scalp and releasing the tight bun that still plagued his hair. He sighed in relief when his locks fell down in grateful, loose waves, his slate tresses tickling his bare shoulders. It was time to get out of this dress.

He tucked the map into his fake cleavage, keeping the document safe from any stray ocean spritz that may rise up to greet him. He spared one more moment of observation over the railing, the churning tar spanning as far as the eye could see. A wise sailor knew that the depths be as uncontrollable and merciless as death itself, but tonight, the _Black Pearl_ commanded these waters, and they obeyed willingly under her reign. Ciel let his hand trail over the smooth yet sticky railing, the strong wood coated deep in slimy gunk, each layer of sludge containing a memory. A lubberly man would call it disgusting. A true pirate would call it the recollection that made the ship who she was. It was no different than a scar on a body. In a way, Ciel found it more respectable to leave parts of the ship untouched by cleanliness; it held onto the dried blood of sailors who had met an untimely fate aboard. Indeed, the fluids spilled upon these railings would remain as long as they wished, serving as the final resting place for many that had been bested by Ciel and his crew. It was the least he could do for their souls as a pirate, regardless if they were scurvy rats who had deserved what was coming to them.

The hem on Ciel's skirts flowed over the gummy deck, his lady boots threatening to adhere to the boards with every step he walked. He thrust his knees up with force, prying the heels off the ground each time he strode forward. The thought of his puffy white shirt, loose black pants, swashbuckler's boots, and extravagant hat put his mind at ease. He was also looking forward to the rum. He would always look forward to the rum.

"Captain!"

The frantic shout of one of his crew had him spinning back round, his eyes darting every which way to determine the cause for such a ruckus. He trotted away from his cabin and back to the deck with purpose, the sticky surface below doing nothing to hinder his goal this time. "What be the source of this commotion?"

"Navy ship off the port side!"

Ciel's eyes widened and he retraced his steps back to the railing he had just been peering over moments before. His fingers curled around the wood once more, his chest pressing into it as he leaned out toward the sea. One hand released the railing and desperately began to pat down his waistline, and he cursed aloud when he remembered that he was still in a lady's bodice; his spyglass had been left behind with his other clothing. He abandoned his futile search and instead focused on the night in front of his eyes, squinting hard in concentration. As helpful as the calm waters had been tonight, the moon had decided to abstain from providing its assistance, for the small sliver of light it granted them did no good in this darkness. He saw nothing, but he could hear a weight on these waters secondary to the _Pearl's._ There was definitely something out there, but the probability of it being a naval vessel would be odd in this situation. The pansy men from England patrolled waters to capture pirates, this was true, but they very rarely travelled in complete darkness, as those men weren't used to seeing in such conditions. If it were indeed a navy ship that had been spotted, the commanding officer would have to be completely mad. A navy seaman's eyesight stood no chance against a pirate's.

And then, as if Ciel had just opened his eyes, he saw it. The break in the stars above, the shadowy disturbance of the darkness beyond. There _was_ a ship, and it was coming right for them. In fact, they were nearly ready to collide.

"Hard-a-starboard!" Ciel bellowed, his head snapping toward the wheel as he watched the crewmate desperately spin it around in his hands. He expected the ground to shake beneath him, but he watched as the two ships barely missed each other, the _Pearl_ just escaping an unpleasant scrape.

"Prepare to board!" He heard a voice cry from across the water, and he saw a full crew of naval men on deck, muskets at the ready and their bayonets pointed to the sky. Ciel backed away from the railing, his head snapping every which way in panic as he desperately tried to think up a plan. The _Pearl_ was the fastest ship these seas had ever known, but their chance of outrunning the soldiers now was highly unlikely. He couldn't risk a broadside, and he knew that they were short on cannons in places that a naval ship was not. He had worked too hard for this ship; he would _not_ let it go down.

"Cap'n?" A crewmate asked, a few of the men approaching him in question. Ciel looked at their waiting faces, their ears begging for orders that he just couldn't seem to issue. He bit his tongue, eyes continuing their rapid dance along the scene in front of him. There was nothing he could do.

"Prepare for boarding," he simply said, and the men flinched in bewilderment. He turned to face them, his eyes narrowing in a sharp glare. "This ain't the first bad spot we've been in, and it ain't the last we'll see."

His words reassured not a single man present on the _Black Pearl,_ and their doubt in Ciel as a captain grew once the deck was graced with new sets of footprints. A dozen Royal Navy sailors boarded the ship, each one stiffer than the last. Their deep blue coats adorned with shiny gold buttons and their white puffy shirts could make any pirate snicker, not to mention the ridiculous white powdered wigs they all wore proudly. Every time Ciel had an unfortunate run in with these men, they always reminded him of little boys who had mischievously delved into their mother's makeup vanity and jewelry box. His mood soured a tick when he grimly remembered that he was still in a woman's dress.

The last naval officer to board their ship had the same wardrobe taste as the remainder of his crew, although in stature he stood much higher than the other men. Ciel knew in an instant that this man was in charge, though he found it odd how he hadn't faced him before. The man's skin matched Ciel's in a pure tint of porcelain, so translucent that Ciel could see the spidery veins below the man's eyes, the capillaries spreading their color into a soft bruise. His eyes were unlike any Ciel had ever seen before, his irises rich with a deep sanguine; the color of blood. No, he _had_ seen this before. It was the color of aging spilled blood that remained along the deck boards, and when the horizon called the sun to its rest, and when the sun obeyed the call, the light of the sunset hit that dried blood _just_ right, and turned it into a brilliant but solemn hue unlike ever witnessed before. _That_ was the color of this man's eyes. Interestingly enough, his eyes weren't the most flabbergasting trait about him, for he was the only man on board that refused to wear the white powdered wig that the rest of his crew had fitted tight to their hollow heads. Instead, his hair swung freely in the soft night breeze, the raven tresses hanging a smidge below his chin at the longest, with plenty of layers tickling his sharp cheekbones and occasionally drifting along the bridge of his nose. Atop his head sat a tricorne hat that every naval officer wore, and he was still at the mercy of mockery for wearing the matching white tights under his cream fitted pants. He was not wearing the wig, however, which was highly unusual for a naval sailor; frankly, it was downright not heard of at all. Ciel had thought that the King commanded all of his ninnies to wear the precious wigs.

"Looks like we've caught ourselves a rousing bunch of pirates, men," he mused, his eyes flitting over every crewman on deck. He observed the rigging, the sails, -- Ciel could tell at once that their black hue had taken him off guard -- and he took a quick glance back at his soldiers. "I think we're actually aboard the _Black Pearl,_ if I'm not mistaken."

"The _Black Pearl?"_ The Royal Navy officers exchanged whispers with one another, the statement alone consuming them in panic. "Thought the _Black Pearl_ was just a legend... She's a folktale... The _Black Pearl_ can't be real..."

"That's enough," he silenced their speculations with a raise of his voice, and a boastful smile curled his lips when he turned his attention back to the situation at hand. "You all will be kept in the brig until we make our return to Port Royal, your final resting place."

It was the pirates' turn to whisper amongst each other now as discourse flooded through them all. A staticky tension had sparked between the men behind Ciel's back, and he clenched his fists in frustration. It was bad enough having to dream up an escape plan in this situation, let alone hearing your entire crew's suspicion of your leadership skills while you're thinking up such a plan.

Ciel's presence had seemed to go unknown to the commanding officer during the exchange, but finally, their gazes locked. He watched as those irises, the color of many men's blood still splattered across this very deck, widened in surprise and softened in an instant. He strode over to Ciel without a second thought, lucky that Ciel had not commanded his men to kill on sight, because they could have easily had a sword through his throat by now.

He took Ciel's hand, an action that nearly caused him to flinch back but he held his ground, the sea in his eyes meeting the blood in the other's. The officer cradled Ciel's thin hand as if it were the most precious item he ever held, and the look in his eyes continued to melt with each second they regarded each other. "Are you a prisoner here?"

Ciel looked over his shoulder at his crew, noting that each one wore the same angry scowl. He could sense their hostility toward him growing with each minute they were considered captors on their own ship, and this darkened his thoughts. A proper crew would never cast doubt on their captain, and if he were selfish, he'd leave these bilge rats to the Royal Navy and see them hang in the gallows. An even better captain would never give up on his crew nor his ship, so he would see this through. A plan tugged at the corner of his brain.

"I-I am," Ciel began slowly, but the words he dared to say dried on his tongue before he could speak them. He had to play this carefully, for these naval officers outmanned and outweaponed his crew significantly. If he could be strategic about this, they may have a chance.

"Commodore Sebastian Michaelis," he introduced himself, earning a gasp from the pirates. Their whispering rose between them again, and Ciel's mind whirred a mile a minute. _Commodore? How have we never crossed paths before?_

Ciel debated how to handle this. He had confirmed that he was kept on the Black Pearl against his will, but it wouldn't take long for two trains of thought to connect that disproved his claims. For one, he was on deck, rather than in the brig below, and for another, Ciel was in excellent condition physically. A true lady aboard a pirate ship alone... Well, her fate would be rather grim, so to speak.

 _"Cielle,"_ he breathed back, and like all other men Ciel had dealt with, he could tell that his name pleasantly tickled the commodore's ears. He pulled Ciel into his chest swiftly, Ciel nearly balking at the action but managing to keep his trap shut. Strong arms in a blue coat wrapped around his frame protectively, and it was a bizarre sensation to experience. Ciel rarely let men get this close to him, for he couldn't carry weapons in a lady's dress and the closer you were to your enemy, the more dangerous of a situation you were in. Yet now he found himself in the arms of a high ranking Royal Navy officer, his body pressed against his in a way that reminded him of two lovers embracing. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to kill this man. In this situation, Ciel felt more like a real woman rather than the captain of the _Black Pearl,_ and that made him feel weak, and just a touch of fright.

"Haul these pirates to our brig," Commodore Michaelis proclaimed, his slender fingers gripping tighter onto Ciel's hipbone. "I want half of the crew to stay on board and the rest of you command the _Pearl._ We'll steer her back to Port Royal. I'm sure the navy would appreciate employing the fastest ship of the sea."

 _They want to turn the_ Pearl _into a navy ship?_ The very thought had Ciel clenching his teeth in fury. The Pearl would never serve a crew so corrupt as the naval scum, and she would never be anything other than what she was: a pirate ship.

"You will stay with me, in my quarters," the commodore spoke softly, his expression once again changing to delicate when he glanced down at Ciel. Ciel simply nodded at his words, his plan spreading out before him in his head. He slyly shimmied his chest a bit, making sure the trade route document was still securely pressed against his skin. Something so simple as stealing paperwork from a drunk had turned into a hellaciously complicated night.

It bruised every fiber of Ciel's being to be led off of the deck of the _Black Pearl_ and onto the ship of their enemies. As soon as his heeled boots clicked onto the deck, the ambiance had shifted entirely. He knew that this deck didn't hold half as many memories, battles, nor fluids from unfortunate souls who had perished along the way. When these boards creaked underneath your feet, you didn't hear the faint singing of sea shanties, the bellowing of men demanding that you return to your post, the chanting of a satisfied crew after a successful plunder. No, these boards were hollow.

Commodore Sebastian Michaelis led Ciel to the captain's quarters, and the young man tried to wrack his brain all the while. It made no sense how they had never crossed swords in battle before. He had to have been newly appointed. Surely, he would have remembered a navy dog who refused to wear his wig?

The captain's quarters on a naval ship differed quite a bit from a pirate's, Ciel realised. It was neater inside, with wooden drawers adorned with fancy glass knobs keeping their papers organized and tucked away. The commodore's desk was much heavier and decorative compared to Ciel's dingy plain one on the _Pearl,_ and that in itself made him pout a bit. Sebastian gestured for Ciel to sit across from him as he took his place behind his desk, and Ciel gently poised himself at the edge of his own seat, his eyes wandering his gaudy, embellished surroundings.

"I can't imagine how a lady found herself aboard a ship such as the _Black Pearl,"_ the commodore mused, his hands flitting over to a tea set on the corner of his desk and expertly pouring it into two porcelain cups lined with floral artwork. He smoothly slid the teacup, complete with a matching saucer underneath, toward Ciel before taking the other for his own. A scowl threatened to make itself known. Tea? Where was the _rum?_

"Thank you," Ciel cooed, remembering his lady manners. He plucked the teacup with a precise motion of his fingers, raising it to his lips and taking a slight sip at the warm beverage. He nearly spat it back out again. _This shit is horrible._

"I don't suppose you're used to these waters?" Ciel attempted to make conversation. The commodore raised an eyebrow at the question, and he smiled uncertainly in response, trying his hardest to appear as a hollow-headed woman.

"Actually, I am," Commodore Michaelis contradicted, taking a brief swig of his tea before continuing. "Hunting pirates is my job. I've sank many a boat in these waters."

"Really?" Ciel leaned forward, intrigued, and this was not an act. There was every chance that the commodore was blowing smoke to impress a lady on his ship, but if he weren't, he could be considered a formidable foe in the future. Learning every possible thing about your enemy never hurt anyone.

"Indeed, we sunk one last night, in fact."

The words hit Ciel to his very core, and his spine struck the back of his chair in deflation. They had sunk a ship so recently? What was their total count so far? Ciel's teeth worried deep grooves into his bottom lip at the thought. It wasn't too long ago that pirates had ruled the seas and every ship that sailed across them, but those times were changing fast. If the Royal Navy were able to sink ships as effortlessly as the commodore described, then these waters were no longer free reign for the pirates. Something would have to give soon, and Ciel feared that the number of officers could exceed that of pirates, if they hadn't already. With the navy controlling the seas, all pirating would come to a halt. They would be...

_...Obsolete._

"Are you quite all right, Ma'am?" The concerned inquiry of the commodore brought Ciel back to reality, and it dawned on him that he had fallen quiet for some time, along with a serious tremble plaguing his hands.

"Y-yes, I'm all right," Ciel wiped his hands on his dress in attempt to calm the quaking, but the tremors only grew with his caged anxiety. Sebastian watched the motion intently, and set his teacup down with a small clatter. The insignificant noise made Ciel jump in his skin, and he observed, wide-eyed, as Commodore Michaelis rose to his feet. The officer circled around to his side, and placed both of his strong hands over Ciel's shoulders.

"You must be shaken up from all of this," he mused quietly. Ciel's cerulean irises drifted down to his shoulders, studying the officer's digits as they massaged circles into his bare, milky skin. The simple action lit his nerves on fire. He could practically feel the man's fingerprints permanently etching themselves into his muscle, his bones. It felt like a brand.

"Commodore, I'm very grateful for your hospitality," Ciel said hurriedly, standing from his chair. This intimacy between them was scrambling his thoughts more than he would like, and he needed to focus on executing his plan. If he could subdue the commodore, he could sneak into the brig and free his crew from their confines. They could all jump ship together and swim to the _Black Pearl,_ which they could easily retake for their own considering it was only being commanded by half of a naval crew. They could turn tail and escape the rest of the officers easily due to the _Pearl's_ immense speed capabilities. They'd be back on course to hit the trade routes by sunrise and his crew's faith in him would be reinforced tenfold; all he had to do was take out the commodore.

Sebastian was swift, and he wrapped an arm around Ciel's waist, molding their two bodies together once again as they had earlier on the _Pearl._ The man's opposite hand took Ciel's in his own, positioning them halfway in the air between them as if they were preparing to dance.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his lips approaching dangerously close to Ciel's own. Ciel's face lit up in a deep shade of pink, his entire form twisting and wriggling like an unsatisfied worm. This earned a chuckle from the commodore, who resumed holding Ciel close, their eyes gazing into one another's with a deep intensity. "I'll need your help identifying the captain of the _Black Pearl."_

"The captain?" Ciel asked incredulously, although part of his act or his real disbelief, he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The commodore nodded. "Those men will be hung on charges of piracy, but I must know the captain of the ship."

Ciel's stare searched Commodore Michaelis', the emotion that reflected back at him serving to make the situation more puzzling. With every passing second, the situation intensified between them. There was an unseen yet felt chemistry, a reaction threatening to bubble and explode between them with one wrong combination of words. Ciel freed his hand from the commodore's grip, and instead trailed it along the officer's face, his thumb brushing up his skin. He could feel sharp stubble underneath his fingers, then a soft reprieve once they landed on the man's upper cheek. A soft smile flitted across Sebastian's lips and he closed his eyes, leaning in for a passionate kiss.

Ciel wrapped his fingers into the man's raven locks and gripped hard, using a swift and forceful motion to slam his head down onto the surface of his desk. The two objects met together in a sickening crunch, and the commodore groaned in pain, his body slumping against the side of the intricate wood and hitting the floor unceremoniously.

 _"I_ am the captain," Ciel stated in his natural, deeper voice, his face finally showing his real emotion: anger. He looked down at the commodore's motionless body in disdain. "It was a pleasure to meet you, _Commodore Sebastian Michaelis."_

Ciel flipped on his heel and trotted toward the door, smoothing himself over as he regained his sense of calm. His next order of business would be freeing his crew, and he could give them the details of their escape after.

He grabbed a gentle hold on the ornamental door that led to the outside, his fingers prying it open slowly with the silence of a cat stalking its prey. The door swung open quietly, but Ciel's brows shot up in shock when he went to take a step forward and was met in the chest with a bayonet. He glanced down at the sharp blade, then up at his opposer, noting the smug expression of a naval officer who held onto his musket with ferocity. He heard the slow, deliberate clicking of a gun readying itself to fire, and he whirled back around toward the room.

The commodore stood on his feet, a trail of blood adventuring down his left temple and staining the side of his face. His hat still lay on the floor, abandoned, but his eyes were filled with dark determination, and his hands that were once curled around Ciel's body now had a threatening grip on a pistol that was levelled perfectly at Ciel's head. "I always wondered if the stories about the crossdressing captain were true, and now I know that they are. Escort this pirate filth to the brig."

Ciel fixed a glare containing the wrath of the seven seas at the commodore as his hands were forced behind his back by the naval officer in the doorway, all the gentleness behind their actions a memory flying away in the ocean air. The grasp on his arms were now held with the grip of a man restraining another man, and this meant the situation had gone from bad to worse. Ciel was caught.

The officer roughly yanked him out of the captain's quarters and onto the deck, the rest of their crew hollering praise as he was escorted toward the brig.

"You'll not escape this ship so easily, _Captain Ciel Phantomhive,"_ the commodore called from behind him, and Ciel flinched hearing his name spoken by such a slimy barnacle. "And you'll not escape what awaits you in the gallows, either."


	2. Chapter 2

The outermost layer of the black bars was bubbled and crusty with age, resembling a deep pit of tar that had just reached its boiling point. Rust peeked between small slivers of the dark blisters, highlighting the blobs in the most unattractive way. The copper flakes were just abundant enough to give a prisoner a spark of hope, and there were various fissures in the bars that revealed determined filing. Many men had likely pressed themselves against this very iron, desperately attempting to wear away the metal and escape their fate of the noose. Too many men had tried this, by the looks of it, yet none had succeeded. The plan would prove to be ultimately fruitless, anyway, for there was not just vertical bars but horizontal ones that intersected, too, and that would be far too much effort to carve through with not enough time to endeavor.

  
There were a few faint dripping sounds coming from a distance, all following their own tempo. The randomness of their splashing was enough to drive anyone insane if they listened attentively. There was no evidence of their pooling besides their offbeat drumming and a strong odor comprised of mold and dankness. It was a shame that this would be the last sheltered place of many souls before they met their untimely demise, as the conditions were just awful. However, being that this was, in fact, a cage for the imprisoned, this was to be expected.

  
Ciel shifted uncomfortably when the muscles in his back began to feel tender once again. Leaning against the cold wall for so long surely left bruising down his spine, and it didn't help that he was forced to sit up completely straight due to his corset. Commodore Sebastian Michaelis offered to retrieve him some men's clothing before he was inevitably locked behind bars, but Ciel vehemently refused. His crewmates surely believed that some screws had gotten knocked loose, and the commodore likely thought that Ciel had never had many screws to begin with; Ciel wasn't an ignoramus by any means. If he undressed from these skirts, as unpleasant as they were, then the trade route document that was still tightly secured to his chest would ultimately flutter out and reveal itself. Losing such an important document to the commodore on top of being imprisoned and sentenced to death would be a harsh absolution Ciel refused to face. So he held steadfast to his word, insisting that he remain in his dress until his final moments alive. He would not allow that fate to come to fruition; he would free himself, somehow, trade route document and all.

  
Ciel slid his bony fingers down his calves, wincing as he massaged the sore tendons leading down his legs. His lady boots were still laced so tightly, as every garment on a lady was meant to be, and the pressure was starting to take its toll on his body. He doubted he had much circulation left to his legs, and his abdominal muscles throbbed with the same protests. He yearned to slice the shoes and corset right in half, and he vowed that he would, once he was on the other side of these bars. His hands skimmed across his billowing skirts, their material fanning all around him elegantly despite their presence in such a miserable environment. It truly was a shame that such a dress belonged to a pirate, for what would normally be shimmering gold and a soft cream were now two muted colors caked with the dirt from his meddling.

  
A small tease of sunlight streaked across the floor at Ciel's feet, tempting him to glance out the nearly nonexistent hole that they called a window. He would not give in to such frivolous impulses, no matter how enticing it seemed at the moment. Peering out at the world would just be a distraction, one he certainly could not afford. He had to dedicate every last second he had on this earth to creating a masterful escape. This was not a task he was looking forward to in the slightest. For someone dreaming of being the piratiest pirate of all of the pirates, he was sure getting captured a lot.

  
His former crewmates leered and continued to mumble insults in his direction, which was getting easier to ignore the longer it persisted. They had arrived in Port Royal a day and a night ago, and had been imprisoned on land ever since. Commodore Michaelis had been kind enough -- emphasis on _kind_ \-- to lock up Ciel isolated from the rest of his crew, assuredly claiming that if he hadn't, Ciel wouldn't be alive to make it to his hanging. The commodore was most likely correct, because although it _had_ been a full day and night since they were locked in these cells, the men had yet to quit with their badgering of his failed leadership.

  
"Thought about mutiny a long time ago, we did," one rasped, his dirty fingers curled around the bars that separated him from his former captain. "Shoulda left ya on a island. _Marooned."_

  
Ciel cringed but refused to raise his gaze from the floor. He knew what marooned meant, clearly, as his vocabulary was significantly more advanced than the average pirate's. His eyes flitted across the smear of sunshine on the ground, noting the unpleasant stains that were highlighted in its glow.

  
"Captain Ciel Phantomhive," another one remarked mockingly. "Commanded under a crossdressing, so-called pirate. Embarrassed enough I could hang meself."

  
That particular comment garnered many an agreement between the crewmates, and Ciel flexed his fingers tightly into his palm. He wouldn't allow them to break his concentration. He would escape this place. He would.

  
Dread began to tug at his stomach, however, as he watched the bright stream of sunlight begin to dim, its tail shortening before his eyes. Dusk was approaching and nightfall, of course, would close in soon after. Ciel did not know when his hanging would commence, but escape had a greater chance of being successful if he did it before, rather than _during_ the ceremony.

  
The soft sound of murmuring voices could be heard from afar, and Ciel finally tore his stare away from the floor to search for it. His body tilted far to his right, eyes bypassing the lingering sneers of his crew and focusing on the pathway beyond, where he saw two redcoats conversing. The taller, beefier one of the two had been standing guard most of the day, his scowl comforting no one. When asked about his stay in the Port Royal prison, Ciel would certainly have some food for thought on improvements, a thought that amused him for a few seconds before he refocused himself. The other redcoat in the conversation was one Ciel had not seen before; he barely looked old enough to dress himself, let alone be carrying the musket that was unsteadily gripped in his hands. Indeed, he was a ripe boy, one who had yet to be burdened by the world and present for many of its cruelties. He was much shorter and certainly much thinner than his matching friend, and his green eyes sparkled with excess innocence when he spoke. His strawberry blond hair stuck out at odd angles around his head, their unruly patterns being disrupted by the tricorn marine hat that squashed them down. He was far too young and far too inexperienced for this job, Ciel could tell. Clearly, the Royal Marines were desperate for help.

  
The two men spoke with one another for around ten minutes, the whippersnapper hanging onto every word and the older gentleman seeming disinterested all the while. Ciel shifted his calculating gaze from their presence to the sunlight across his floor, timing their conversation as the ray shortened. Soon, _very soon,_ his little streak of sun would curl itself up and slip out of his window, indicating that dusk was coming to its rapid end. A foreboding feeling of what was to come draped over Ciel's shoulders like a heavy, wet blanket. He had the most peculiar certainty in his breast that if he did not escape tonight, he would not escape at all.

  
For the first time in their captivity, his crewmates finally silenced their taunting. They had all grown quiet once the two redcoats finally said their goodbyes to one another, the grumpy one huffing away while the younger boy relieved him of his guard duty. You could tell he was an intern; he marched up and down the hallway with the determination of being the best soldier he could be. Unfortunately, it just made him look all the more ridiculous. His crew settled on trading snarky snickers at the sight, shifting their hostility for Ciel to the young marine.

  
The boy could hear their comments as the volume of their laughter grew, and he whipped around to approach their cell, his expression hiding none of the anger that had bubbled within him. In fact, his face was redder than a ripe tomato on a rich sunny day. "Making fun of me to pass the time, are ya?" He tried to intimidate, but their chortles only intensified at his attempt. "Oi, stop laughing at me right this instant!" By now, Ciel could hardly make out his words; the giggles of the pirates had multiplied exponentially. This was his chance.

  
Ciel waved the marine to come closer. The boy raised an eyebrow in suspicion but cautiously approached Ciel, his politeness convincing him to indulge whatever the pirate may have to say. "Ignore those good-for-nothing blimey dogs," Ciel stated helpfully, waving a delicate hand in dismissal. "They wouldn't know a decent marine if he roped 'em around the neck and hung 'em to dry." The boy blinked, his face scrunching up in confusion. Ciel practically sighed at the sight; it was apparent that his attempts at flattery had went over the boy's head. The captain cleared his throat and made the decision to completely shift the conversation. "So, what's your name, lad?"

  
The young marine glanced all around him in paranoia, as if revealing his first name to a pirate would doom his fate as a soldier. Ciel gave him a halfhearted smile of reassurance, and once the boy was entirely sure that there wasn't another redcoat around to hear his response, he quietly muttered "Finnian."

  
"Finnian," Ciel repeated, nodding his head. "A strong name. A lily one though, if you will. How d'you like Finny? Now _that's_ a name there, savvy?"

  
His eyebrow still arched in distrust, Finnian crossed his arms a tad in defense. "My father named me that."

  
"And it's good," Ciel insisted, his hands raising above his head in surrender. "Good, good, good. But no one would turn tail at the sound of Finnian. No, people would say 'that's Finny, ya oughta be afraid of little ol' him!'"

  
"I don't want people to be afraid of me."

  
Ciel's mind whirred in frustration, his patience wanting to thin from his lack of progress. Contradictory to this, Captain Phantomhive was infamous for his charm and persuasion, and he couldn't let the stress of his situation compromise his chance of getting out of his cell. Currently, Finnian was his only hope of ever leaving these bars, and if his intuition was correct, he would be his _only_ hope. Ciel pasted an unconvincing smirk on his face as he switched strategies once more. He would never appeal to this innocent boy with guarantees of notoriety, not when his sense of morality was still so set in stone. But what he _could_ appeal to was the nagging desire that every young boy yearned about at his age: adventure. "Say, Finny, have you ever dreamt of being a pirate?"

  
A frown tugged at the marine's lips at the sound of being called 'Finny,' and it only worsened once Ciel asked his question. He had been brought up to despise pirates, no doubt, or else he wouldn't have been a marine in the first place. If Ciel's negotiation skills had time to flourish, however, he was certain he could convince the boy that pirating was not all the terrible stereotypes that the masses wanted you to believe. An argument, while immoral in some individual's eyes, was for once a total honest claim in Ciel's. He truly believed pirating was a good -- no, _necessary_ \-- endeavor in a world full of so many corrupt aristocrats. He was helping common men get richer off of the wealthy man's excess in the process of pursuing his own goals. Wasn't that a noble deed in itself?

  
Lost in his moral battle within, Ciel realised that Finnian had yet to reply, and he scrambled to keep the marine's interest in the conversation. "Look, _Finnian,"_ Ciel tried to bargain, and he was pleased when the boy met his eyes in response to hearing his proper name. "I know they've taught you to cage us and hang us. We're the bad men that steal from the honest and take from the unfortunate, but the world is not as black and white as that, mate. The lines get a bit more complicated than that."

  
Finnian's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Ciel's miniature speech, his shock from hearing Ciel speak in a complete sentence throwing him off guard. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Ciel's lips. It was the small victories that won the major battles in the end. "Complicated, you say?" Finnian mused, his stare clouding over with the many questioning thoughts that were likely ambushing his mind.

  
Ciel nodded confidently, his slender legs crossing over each other as he gazed up at the uninteresting ceiling. He allowed every current thought that drifted through his consciousness to spill from his lips. "I've been a pirate as long as I can remember, which is as long as I've been alive. The sea is my home. In fact, I feel a nausea from just sitting in here on stable land as long as I have. I'm homesick, Finnian, figuratively and literally. My heart _craves_ the rolling of waves beneath my feet, my soul _feeds_ off of adventure. You marines sure know how to punish a lad, locking him up in a grounded cell like this. This is the worst you could do to a pirate; you deserve a raise, you've got me so miserable in here."

  
"What's it like out there?" Finnian questioned immediately after Ciel fell quiet, his small body sliding down to the floor so they were at the same height. Ciel's insides squirmed, overjoyed, but he couldn't reveal his true emotions in the slightest. He cocked his head in Finnian's direction, his eyes paying him a somber glance in response before a soft smile graced his lips.

  
"What's it like on the sea? Land don't come close to it in beauty. The motions of the water 'neath you are enough to rock a grown man to sleep in seconds. And the camaraderie of a crew, mate, landlubbers couldn't recreate that with all the imported rum in the world."

  
Finnian's eyes shone with imagination, his pupils dilating as he surely thought up the various adventures his mind had always wondered about. Ciel smirked at the sight, both out of victory and admiration. His goal to the bitter end would be using Finnian's inexperience with life to get him out of this jail, but he couldn't help but reminisce on his own dulled thirst for adventure. Ciel would never tire of the perilous pirate journeys he sought out on the sea; he would be a pirate until the day he died. Though he couldn't help admitting that his reckless abandon for quests was slowly dimming as he got older. He wasn't losing his pirate blood, he was simply losing his excitement for life.

  
"I always wondered what it'd be like to be a pirate."

  
The comment broke Ciel free from his internal debate, and he knew by the sound of those words that he had Finnian right where he wanted him from the beginning. Ciel stirred from his resting spot, flinching mildly as he hobbled on his knees closer to the bars that separated him from the marine. He collapsed on his calves in front of them, his fingers curling around the iron as he peered out at his conversational partner, their faces closer together now than ever before. Ciel let an expression of desperation tinted with despair fall over his features as his irises of sea stared into ones of lush foliage. "You could be one, Finnian. Sail with me across the seas, mate. Take your fate into your own hands and _mold_ it. Become what you always dreamed of. But you have to get me out of here, lad," Ciel insisted, his eyes now darting along their surroundings in paranoia. If another marine trotted down here to check on the prisoners, Ciel's proposition would be shattered into an unfeasible façade. There was no more time to dawdle.

  
Finnian chewed at his lip in indecision, and Ciel's confidence shrank to the size of a pea. He wondered if there was more he should've said, more he should've done, to convince the boy that freeing him was the right choice. He questioned if he was losing his touch. Not too long ago, he successfully manipulated an incredibly important trade route document out from the underside of a merchant's nose, and his faith in his abilities was more secure than it ever had been. But now, after losing the _Pearl_ and his freedom, along with the shaky reliance of his crew, he felt a small seed of doubt plant itself in his core. Perhaps he wasn't as convincing as he had once believed. Maybe he would finally be paying the consequences of his lifestyle choices, and his body would soon dangle in the wind above Port Royal's docks, reminding any who sailed near that pirates would be punished for their crimes. His legacy would live on in humiliation forever, his body forever interred in a woman's dress until the fabric no longer held up at the seams. What a fool he has made of himself.

  
The streak of light had retreated from the jail cell and returned to its home beyond, the sun nearing its full disappearance and taking its last remaining rays with it. The moon would be a bit brighter tonight but not by much; one additional glowing sliver to the already tiny one in the sky did not provide even the barest amount of assistance when the world below was so dark.

  
A heavy _chink_ of metal echoed throughout the chilling chamber, and Ciel's arms fell weakly to his sides when the bars were withdrawn from him. Ciel glanced up at Finnian, his eyes filling with strength when he saw the door between them swing open with finality. The boy had made his choice.

  
As if to exemplify this, he reached his hand down to Ciel in a show of loyalty. Ciel slapped his hand into the boy's with pride, and the marine helped the pirate captain to his unsteady feet. Ciel swayed a little, his frame initially thrown off balance until he found the muster to right himself. The spiel he gave Finnian earlier was no lie; he was indeed nauseous from being on stable land for so long, and his heart once again ached of homesickness.

  
But now it was time to go home.

  
The two exchanged smiles of pride with one another as Ciel exited his cell, his heels clacking with resounding victory. His crewmates' snarky comments had dissolved in a single instance, the creaky hinges of the now open cell cutting their voices off like a knife. All at once they began begging their hearts out, pouring out apologies faster than they had once trickled rum into their gaping jaws.

  
"Cap'n, we didn't mean it!"

  
"We'd never betray ya, Cap'n Phantomhive!"

  
"We were just pulling your leg, we were!"

  
Ciel took the lead from Finnian, his strides stopping once he stood in front of his crewmates' cell. Finnian halted behind him, his fingers fidgetting nervously as he wondered what fate Ciel planned on dishing out. The slate-haired male regarded them with a cold hatred, his posture stiffening with each plea that escaped their traitorous mugs. They grasped onto the bars in desperation, arms tugging at them in a panic while they stared at their former captain with the eyes of scared pups.

  
"Captain?" Finnian asked hesitantly, awaiting the orders of his new admiral.

  
"I was to be _marooned,"_ Ciel reminded, his response curt enough that it bit off whatever words the pirates planned on speaking next. "So embarrassing it all was, ye would've rather hanged yerselves. Well, be careful what you wish for, gents. Shoulda wished for a way outta here."

  
Ciel and his new friend turned away from the pirates, gaits purposeful even after the men screamed out their indignation at their backs. They continued to admonish Ciel long after he left their vision, but he could still hear the faint chanting of their voices behind him. Their protests gained in strength as they began to proclaim a prison break.

  
"We have to hurry," Ciel murmured, his hands clutching his skirts and hoisting them as he clattered up the stone stairs that led to his freedom. "If guards hear them, it won't be long until they're searchin' for the both of us."

  
Finnian didn't reply but Ciel knew he was in agreement. The two continued up the shoddy stairwell until it abruptly ended in a haphazard doorway, the exit swirling with the promise of fresh air. Ciel climbed the last step and burst into the night, his cheeks tinted with the lightest of pinks as soon as the cold rush of the breeze caressed them. Finnian was not far behind, and he slid next to Ciel's side in anticipation, his body tremoring lightly with shivers. It was apparent that he was not very accustomed to colder air, and that would make his transition to living at sea rather uncomfortable. Ciel wouldn't inform him of this, however. He needed Finnian's utmost loyalty.

  
Ciel squinted his eyes as he looked from side to side, noting that there were multiple clusters of guards patrolling the surrounding area. A good handful of men were directly ahead, their course leading them further away from the prison, thankfully. There was another troop to their right that Ciel guessed was about one hundred yards away, though they were also marching in the opposite direction of their location; they were likely en route to the docks. A third grouping of marines sandwiched them to their left, and to Ciel's dismay, they were going to pass right in front of them. Ciel swiftly circled around the doorway and pressed his body against the outer wall, indicating toward Finnian to do the same. His young partner did as was gestured and slid himself besides Ciel, the two of them flattening their bodies as much as humanly possible. Goosebumps rose to Ciel's skin and travelled their way across his every surface as his nearly bare back pressed against the frigid, rough stone. The land air would never come close to biting quite as fiercely as the sea's, but Ciel was typically dressed better for the occasion. He had worn this dress on many excursions but never for this long of a time, and he was starting to realise how flimsy and thin women's clothing really was. His biceps and legs, though covered by the gilden fabric, still ached and shivered in complaints to the cold.

  
The guards trotted closer, and the two men held their breath in anticipation. Ciel could practically hear their hearts beating together, dancing a rapid rhythm to an unheard sea shanty within. He vowed that if they made it out of Port Royal alive, -- but of course they would, he was Captain Ciel Phantomhive, was he not? -- that they would dance to a real sea shanty and drink rum until their livers begged for mercy, and they would give their hearts something to beat about.

  
Soft clinks of their fancy metal buckles and flamboyant buttons echoed throughout the still night as the troupe passed them by, their awareness to another presence in their midst absolutely clueless. Ciel's head was on a swivel, and he noted that another group of marines had appeared on their left, although they were quite far from them at the moment. It didn't take long for the calculations in his head to discover their routes. They patrolled the prison and made their way down to the docks, then they likely circled back 'round again, some going deeper into Port Royal while the others reconvened near the prison once more. Their timing would be preferable now.

  
"Let's go," Ciel whispered, and the two hurried down the pathway the guards had followed. They kept cautious enough to maintain proper distance between themselves and the marines who had already marched by, though they stepped quickly to avoid being caught by the men who trailed behind. Ciel was grateful for the moon's shy tendancies; with Finnian wearing a vibrant red marine coat and Ciel's softly toned dress, they would've been spotted in an instant if the moon had chosen to be frisky with its light. They kept to the shadows, anyhow; Finnian right on his new captain's heels as to not lose him. Ciel was aware of this, and while he was well versed in darting to cover so as not to be seen, he took his movements slowly in consideration of Finnian's poor night sight.

  
The patrols seemed rather carefree and sloppy tonight, which Ciel was grateful for. Security could be tight when they wanted to be, but a popular trait among Port Royal marines was laziness, and if their minds weren't often stimulated, they tended to lose their touch as soldiers. Port Royal had not encountered a serious quagmire in quite some time, and it showed.

  
They slinked their way down to the docks with little to no effort, each of them continuing to pivot their heads in caution. Ciel spotted no men guarding the ships, which was very odd, even for the lax attitudes of the Royal Marines. His eyes scanned the blank canvas of night, his pupils studying the figures of the ships as if he were a curator of fine art. Their sails added a pop of color to the night, a silken milk that still reflected its hue even in the darkest of moonlight. Those were not his sails. Those were not his colors. They continued their jaunt down the docks, the _click_ and _thump_ of their footsteps sounding more relaxed the further they went. Ciel's lips spread apart in a lopsided grin when a murky billowing caught his attention. There was no reflection of the moon's aura, there was no exquisite embellishments adoring the windows and trimming. No, it was beckoning the night into her arms and cradling it like a concerned mother, rocking it softly until it was soothed and comforted. It was the _Black Pearl._

  
Ciel approached his ship with a prideful, excited spring in his step, the way a parent might run to their child after seeing their kin best a mighty challenge. His heeled boots clattered with a satisfying tap dance as he practically skipped to her, his heart aching to be reunited with his home. Finnian had stopped in his tracks once he noticed the ship, his poor night vision surely decent enough to spot the dark silhouette before his eyes. His pupils dilated and his lower lip quivered, a small tear of saliva beading up in the corner of his mouth out of trepidation. "It can't be."

  
Ciel halted in his tracks, his body doing a full turn around at the frightened whisper behind him. His eyebrow rose in questioning when he took in the sight of his acquaintance, noticing that for once in their mischievous actions, Finnian appeared to be scared. "Cowering before the _Pearl,_ eh? She is a mighty ship."

  
"No, the _Pearl_ can't be real," Finnian disagreed, his head shaking from side to side as if the ship he was staring at was a mere hallucination.

  
Ciel sighed in annoyance, his hands raking through his long, unruly hair. The tresses tangled themselves in his fingers before they fell in knotted coils at his shoulders once more. "She is real, she's right here! She's me ship, and she's what we'll be sailing out of here. Savvy?"

  
Finnian continued to shake his head, murmuring soft _no's_ to himself over and over again like a broken record. He refused to come any closer. Ciel sighed once again but he couldn't be bothered by the whole ordeal; Finnian was a nice lad, and he appreciated the help he had lent, but Ciel didn't _need_ him. There were plenty of capable sailors -- or, in Finnian's case, sailors i _n general_ \-- who would jump at the opportunity to join Ciel's crew. Finnian was no longer of need to the captain, and this captain wasn't going to waste any more time. Ciel promptly boarded the _Black Pearl_ alone, his dress swaying determinedly around his ankles as he prepared to weigh anchor. It wouldn't be easy, sailing a pirate ship all on his own, but he could manage. He was Captain Ciel Phantomhive.

  
He barely stepped ten feet across the deck before he heard a familiar click, and his heart dropped into his stomach with a sickening, metaphorical splash. His teeth smashed down into each other with enough force to grind them to powder, and his raggedly nails dug into the callouses of his palms with intent to maul.

  
"I don't know how you did it, but this escape ends here."

  
Ciel's nerves were fraying with the speed of abused violin strings, and they screeched in his head with just the same amount of bloodcurdling violence. His eyes were cold and hard as he spun around on his literal heel, the soles of his feet aching from being forced into their arched position all this time. They had begun to numb and calm once they had believed that they wouldn't be in these shoes for much longer, but their pain doubled tenfold as Ciel studied the man who stood only a small gap away. He recognized the pistol pointed at his head, and he imagined the pistol stared back at him with the same amount of bitter hatred; they each dreamed of tearing each other apart.

  
"Don't see yer crew to protect ye this time, Commodore Michaelis," Ciel mused, his chin lifting in a slight of superiority. The commodore was unfazed, however, and held his pistol with a composed stillness. Ciel's eyes floated down at his familiar attire, and it was then that he noticed that the man also held a sword in his right hand.

  
"I don't need my crew to protect me. You will still be hanged for piracy, and I'll see to it that your fate comes sooner than planned after you demonstrated this little performance. How did you escape?"

  
Ciel smiled at the commodore's grave expression, which made Sebastian's frown deepen all the more. "Does it matter, mate? I'm here, you're here. Us, here. We can settle this like men, eh?"

  
Commodore Michaelis' frown lightened into a smug sneer. "I'm not sure what settling is left to do, seeing as how I have a sword _and_ a gun, and you're unarmed."

  
"I still have my feminine wiles," Ciel stated confidently, his hips jutting out as he posed and did a mocking strut from side to side. "You fell for those once."

  
The commodore gritted his teeth in anger, his finger tightening on the pistol. His index pressed against the trigger threateningly, temper getting the better of him. "You will burn in Hell, Ciel Phantomhive. And I will be the one to send you there." He pressed his finger into the trigger out of resolution, and in the same instant, Ciel heard a cry of his name.

  
"Ciel!"

  
The commodore doubled over, his gun ringing out and the bullet from it slicing through the nighttime air high above the ship. A barrel rolled across the deck, and Ciel saw Finnian's small frame standing victoriously behind Sebastian. Ciel's ecstatic grin returned, and he glanced down at the deck right as Commodore Michaelis' sword came sliding to his feet. The captain snatched up the sword expertly, his fingers tightening around the ornamental hilt with the strength of his fury. He strode toward the crouched over man with purpose, his boot coming up to meet the man's face in greeting. The kick of his leg united the pointed toe with bone in a sickening crunch, and Sebastian fell to his back on the deck with a groan. Ciel directed the point of the sword to the underside of the man's throat, the ocean in his irises watching without care as two small trails of blood escaped one nostril and the corner of his mouth. He still had a nasty looking bruise in the upper corner of his forehead, which filled Ciel with great pride. The sharp tip of the blade caressed the soft skin of the commodore, dying to be sunk in to greater depths. The tips of his fingers traced the decorations beneath them in anticipation of his enemy's demise.

  
White hot pain seared his right eye, a scorching sensation of the hottest fire burning the socket from his head. Ciel let out a scream and clutched at his face with his left hand. His right still bore the sword, although he pulled it away from the commodore's neck with his motions. Ciel's anguished moans only grew louder as the burning of his eye multiplied to an unbearable level, the feeling of magma coursing through his cornea more than he could take. Both Commodore Michaelis and Finnian remained where they were, their faces twisted in uneasy confusion as they watched Ciel writhe in his sudden agony. "Captain, are you all right?" Finnian asked hesitantly, his hands beginning to quake in his nervousness.

  
Ciel released his eye and tilted his head toward the sky with a gasp, begging for the cold sea air to soothe his pain similar to how ice water would calm an angry burn. Sebastian and Finnian both released gasps of their own as they saw his right eye glowing with a powerfully bright light, its normal blue color encased in a vibrant, unnatural purple hue. Symbols of unknown origin were branded into the surface, their appearance radiating the same spooky tint of a supernatural purple. The other two gentlemen aboard the _Pearl_ didn't know what to make of it, but their hearts thudded rapidly with adrenaline.

  
Ciel's cries slowly began to die down until he fell quiet, his head still pointed toward the sky in search of relief. Gradually, the purple tones that had once lit his eye like a beacon began to shimmer as they dimmed, then dissolve as it completely faded away. His eyes once again matched each other in color, the moment of terror unravelling in the faint sea breeze. It had happened so suddenly, no one could process it. Sebastian and Finnian each believed that their minds had played a trick on them, though when they took in each others' pale complexions and foreheads damp with sheen, they weren't so sure.

  
The captain straightened himself, his expression now of a man who had clearly been shaken up. His eyes darted from the commodore, still lying on the ground, and Finnian, who stood behind the collapsed soldier. Their eyes studied him as if he were a bomb ready to explode at any moment, and the silence in the air thickened the atmosphere immensely.

  
It was all shattered away with the sudden ringing of a bell. Ciel and Finnian looked around themselves with instantaneous realisation; the guards had discovered the prison break. The faint shouts of men could be heard in conjunction with the bell, likely marine officers bellowing orders to their troops. The first place they'd search would be the docks. They'd go straight for the _Black Pearl._

  
Ciel repositioned the tip of the commodore's sword to the crook in the man's neck, though his movements were full of hesitation now. Ciel grit his teeth as he weighed his options, his gaze darting from the soldier beneath him to the area beyond the docks, where he saw marines converging. Ciel glanced down at Commodore Michaelis once more, his features scrunching up in misery. "You don't die here," he whispered, emotion tinging his every word. Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden change in the pirate's demeanor, his voice and every expression flitting across his face ones of pure sadness.

  
The cries of marines in the distance were amplified by their impending arrival, and Ciel hardened himself out of his shock. "Prepare to weigh anchor, Finnian. Now!"

  
The marine did as was told, and he bustled around the deck with the panic of a headless chicken. Ciel turned his attention to Sebastian, and he bent down, his arms wrapping around the man's waist tightly. Ciel hoisted the commodore off the ground, dragging his body across the deck with surprising strength. Sebastian could have easily fought back at any moment, but his body was paralyzed with disbelief, both at what he had seen, and how Ciel had reacted. The captain made his way over to the side of the ship and tossed Commodore Michaelis overboard, his body hitting the deck with an unceremonious _thud._ The commodore attempted to scramble to his feet but failed, his body only rising into a sitting position. Ciel tossed the man's sword down, as well, the blade landing at his feet with a few soft _tinks._ Sebastian looked up at the pirate, his bewilderment growing by the second. That was an expensive sword. An irreplaceable sword. And Ciel gave it back without a second thought. His eyes met the pirate's once again, and he saw that same look of melancholy that had plagued his features on the deck. They held their stares for what seemed like a lifetime, the swirling sanguine melding with the deep cerulean in an unspoken, indescribable bond. His soul searched those eyes for the source of their sadness, the veritable torment speaking volumes that he couldn't comprehend. They held knowledge of unspeakable horrors, ones that seemed too sad to imagine. Those eyes had lived a lifetime and a day.

  
Ciel slowly turned away from the railing, his back retreating until it ultimately disappeared from Sebastian's vision. The commodore sat there on the dock, as still as stone, his heart unquestionably aching from the whole ordeal, yet he couldn't place why. He remained in the same spot as he watched the _Pearl_ sail away from Port Royal's docks, he remained when the marines finally arrived too little too late, and he remained long after the visage of the _Black Pearl_ dissipated in the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Ciel wiped at the sweat on his brow with his outer wrist, his protruding bone retracting with a new gleam to it once he was through. A contented smile rested upon his thin lips, and the soft sigh he released to himself was one of pure bliss. The sun had risen many hours ago, and now it was late enough in the morning for its light to provide warmth. He observed the waves in the distance, noting how far the rolling horizon appeared from this perspective. It was rare for Ciel to maintain the rigging himself, but with only two people aboard the _Pearl,_ he did what duties were required of him. He hadn't been this close to the sails in quite a long time, and he hadn't realised how much he missed the view. Golden ribbons threaded their way through the deep blue ripples, its radiance embedding itself into the seafoam. Droplets of moisture had formed along Ciel's bare chest, and the ocean's gentle whisper cooled them down with a comforting graze. He had been of small stature since he was a young boy, and his height, as well as his weight, had not increased by much since. Although he appeared fragile, he was a pirate, and that title in itself required much physical aptitude. His arms, as thin as they were, had sharp outlines trailing from his shoulders down to his hands, just barely revealing their potential. His chest, though not broad, could hurt your hand just as much as punching a solid boulder bare-fisted. His abdomen was lean, but it had very shy definitive curves, comparative to a shark's shadow just before its tapered fin broke the surface's calm. Ciel had expertly honed every muscle in his body and worked them to the bone as often as possible, and though his frame liked to conceal his efforts, his strength proved itself tenfold.

  
Ciel took a glance beneath him, the deck appearing miniature at this height. He noticed Finnian was running from side to side across it, gaping ecstatically at the repetitive sights of the churning water. Ciel couldn't blame him. As soon as the _Black Pearl_ had sailed a safe distance away from Port Royal, Ciel broke out the bottles of rum, one for him, and one for his new mate. Finnian had professed to never have indulged in large amounts of liquor previously, but he seemed to have taken to it quite well, and he drank his entire bottle right along with Ciel. Unfortunately, his body was not so enthralled with his new hobby, and he had been sick for nearly two days straight. Ciel had had to pat his back and comfort him like a mum while the poor boy vomited out his insides into the waters. Frankly, Ciel was surprised Finnian had any strength to him, as he hadn't been able to stomach a lick of food. However, he acted brighter and more alert today, and for that, Ciel was grateful. He figured Finnian's previous excitement at the thought of new adventures was finally starting to burn brightly once again now that he had recovered from his illness.

  
The captain gave one of the sails a thankful pat, his fingers skimming along their silky surface and nestling into their crevices as they lightly billowed in the breeze. He translated his appreciation for their continuous hard work into his caresses; a ship deserved her praise at the end of the day, too. Then, he slid down the rigging effortlessly, his feet planting themselves on the deck with the gracefulness of a refined dancer. Finnian noticed his return and he flashed the captain a youthful grin, his lips pulling apart as wide as they could in happiness. "Captain, look! There's water all around us!"

  
Ciel glanced over the railing while Finnian pointed, noting that there was nothing but sloshing, salty navy beyond his digit's indication. "Aye, that'd be the sea, lad."

  
Finnian scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly, a deep flush rising to his cheeks in embarrassment. The realisation of what he'd said humiliated him down to his bones. "I've never seen so much of it before," he tried to explain, though it was fruitless in soothing his already frazzled state.

  
The captain completely understood his awestruck mentality, and he nodded along, brushing off Finnian's earlier remark altogether. "Should 'ave yourself an apple, mate. 'Bout to drop on deck, I do suppose."

  
Finnian's stomach growled as if Ciel's words had finally summoned it, and Finnian's eyes widened once he remembered how long it'd been since he'd eaten. The boy tenderly rubbed his deeply bellowing abdomen, and he gave his captain a prompt nod before he retreated to scavenge for some nutrition.

  
Ciel slowly treaded toward the port side, his eyes raking over the expanse before him. The sea bared itself shamelessly. His equilibrium had long since corrected itself; indeed, his balance had regained its stability ever since he could feel the rocking of the water below. There was a time long ago when Ciel had serious doubts of continuing his pirate lineage, but that uncertainness had been extinguished completely. He hadn't realised how attached to the water he had become, but after discovering his apparent landsickness, he couldn't imagine living a life without a ship. He could still feel remnants of his nausea, and remembering the confusion from his past gave it a sharper edge. A grim expression overcame him as his past threatened to rear its head. _I really didn't want to be a pirate, did I? Do I even want to be a true pirate now? Or am I just acting on impulse from revenge?_

  
"Captain?"

  
The sound of Finnian's worried voice released him from his trance, and he cocked his head over his shoulder to acknowledge him. He held an apple in each of his palms, his right outstretched toward Ciel in offering. His eyes matched his tone, his irises doing nothing to hide his clear concern for Ciel. "Y-you should have something to eat, too. You look awful hungry."

  
Ciel had to make an effort to hide the pitying smile that danced below the surface of his lips. Finnian's white lie made him feel even worse, as he was not happy that his emotions were so easily readable on his face. He was grateful, however, that Finnian had enough empathy to play dumb to the situation, and he showed his appreciation by gently plucking the shiny green fruit from his hand. A satisfying _crunch_ followed by soft chewing filled in the background noise as Finnian greedily munched on his breakfast, his teeth tearing into the red skin and juice spilling from his lips, then onto the deck. Ciel studied his apple carefully, long nails raking over the waxy flesh on its surface. Though the outer layer felt incredibly ceraceous, it appeared perfectly polished, so much so that Ciel could practically see his reflection. He hadn't eaten this morning and yet he didn't feel hungry; his earlier thoughts had already haunted him and they hadn't desired to take their leave just yet.

  
"Sho where are we going, Camptain?" Finnian slurred, his words struggling to make themselves clear in between his giant bites. Ciel took a small, forced bite out of his own apple, its essence spilling through his teeth, racing down his neck and greeting the already present tracks of sweat on his bare chest. He swallowed his bite quickly, cringing a bit when the hard lump slowly slid down his esophagus.

  
"Tortuga, Finnian. Best place to find ourselves a crew."

  
Finnian didn't respond, as his hands were meticulously spinning the apple round and round, his teeth chomping away at any surface they could grasp onto, like a beaver gnawing on his favorite stick. Ciel pressed himself to continue eating despite his stomach's unease, albeit a bit more leisurely than Finnian's established pace. He wasn't sure on why exactly he felt so anxious, as many events had unfolded in such a short period of time. Whether it was the feeling of abandonment from his prior crew, the uncertainty of his death, the sudden nagging of his past or his current situation of being in desperate need of more sailors, he was feeling rather unexpectedly nervous; this was an emotion that Ciel very rarely experienced, and that, in itself, made his nerves all the more tense.

* * *

Their arrival in Tortuga amplified Finnian's excitement to its greatest height. He danced around the deck like an eager schoolboy dying to eye the girl who had given his stomach the butterflies. There was a lightness to his motions, and the utter happiness he felt billowed from his being like a thick cloud of gleeful steam. If Finnian had any doubts of his choice, Ciel knew he hadn't been feeling any of them right now. No, this was the joy of an experience-starved individual who had been yearning to see the world. He would see it, all right. There was plenty to gaze upon in Tortuga, and plenty that Finnian would likely wish to forget.

  
"Just keep your wits about yeself, lad," Ciel warned as they made their way down the docks, his mate's head swishing from left to right rapidly in eagerness. "Tortuga is home to thieves, pirates, scallywags. Stay close if you like yer skin."

  
The light in Finnian's eyes didn't dim a bit at his remark, though he seemed to be listening, as he maintained a close proximity to Ciel's side. Their boots left the rotting wood of the docks and promptly sunk into the rutted, muddy pathways of Tortuga. Ciel's shoes had long adjusted to this environment; in fact, it was as if Tortuga's mud kissed the soles of his feet in greeting with every step he took in this familiar territory. On the contrary, the land seemed much more wary with the introduction of Finnian's footsteps, the softened dirt almost sucking at their cleanliness in disgust. Ciel could practically hear the weeping of their pristine leather as every step Finnian took encased them further and further into the filthy mire that made up this beloved, yet absolutely revolting island.

  
A soft sadness curled within Ciel's insides as Finnian's excited curiosity slowly turned into surprised disappointment once he saw what Tortuga had to offer. Drunkard men passed out in the pig pens, their bodies covered in muck and slop as if they had belonged there all along. Barely dressed individuals relieving themselves on either sides of the streets without care, for at this point they had nowhere to go, and nothing to lose. Other unconscious bodies were strewn about haphazardly, some likely sleeping after a hectic night, others could very well be dead. There were pickpockets weaving themselves within the upright bodies who meandered their way through town, though they likely were unsuccessful in their thievery, and if they were, they probably didn't retrieve much. Finnian's eyes widened as they strolled past a man whose bottom was planted on the ground, a woman in his lap who bounced herself up and down at a rhythmic pace. Though her back faced them and her dress splayed out and concealed the sight beneath, from the rough sounds of skin slapping together it was easy to determine what was going on. Finnian regarded Ciel with a pale complexion, the sparkle in his eyes dulled and his mouth curled down in what appeared to be anxiety. Ciel gave him an encouraging pat to the shoulder, and steered him in the direction of a tavern.

  
This was an odd sense of deja vu for Ciel. It felt like only yesterday when he traipsed his own way down this very street, heading toward this very tavern. He could still taste that night air on his tongue, his skin still recalling the sensation of his cold skirts skimming across the surface of his bare legs. His mind had been in a much better place then. His conniving tongue had been laced with confidence, his ego boosted once he retrieved his sought after document and had been praised by his crew. It was such a typical night, and yet it had been shattered so easily. The _Pearl_ had been tainted by the commandeering of the Royal Navy. He had been bested by a commodore who had him convinced that he was wrapped around his finger. He had been waiting patiently for his final sentence, and had somehow coerced an innocent marine into becoming a pirate and joining his crew, therefore damning him to a dreadful fate in the chance that he was ever captured. He had just celebrated a victory with his crew, and yet he abandoned them behind bars for their plotted treachery. Those same men he had joked and laughed with were likely dead by now, hanging by their necks as their lifeless bodies swung in the wind like clumsy knick-knacks. Everything had changed so drastically in just a handful of days. It was frightening how unstable life could be.

  
The tavern was much more subdued compared to the last time he had been here. It was nighttime when he last entered this place, and many men had been getting their drinking requirements fulfilled and their desires satiated by the wiles of wenches. Now, it was still early afternoon, and though there would be a few alcoholics hanging about, very many were still asleep from their last night's escapades. There were only a dozen patrons inside, and the silence was near deafening compared to the loudness that Ciel had been privy to before.

  
They sat down at the bar, noting that the man tending it was lazily scrubbing at the grimy surface with an equally scummy rag, his motions merely spreading the dirt around in whatever direction he happened to scrub at.

  
"Oi, grog." Ciel demanded bluntly, earning him a displeased glance from the disheveled man, though he did as was told. "Oh, and be telling all ye see that Captain Ciel Phantomhive is lookin' for a crew. Down by the docks where they can apply."

  
The barkeep simply let out a neutral grunt at his request, and he turned his back to begin filling two tankards with a viscous, unknown liquid. The alcohol in Tortuga certainly had alcoholic effects to it, but it was unlike any ever consumed before, in the fact that it was the most awful thing you could ever be subjected to. No one drank Tortugan liquor for its taste but rather to have a good time, and you had to have the proper gut to handle its rankness. Finnian was likely way out of his league, but Ciel would never drink alone when in company.

  
"Captain, I-I was wanting to ask you," Finnian began, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he struggled to find the confidence to voice his thoughts. Ciel's regard was composed, though he knew by the fear in Finnian's demeanor that this question would not be a light one. "I- well, I've been wondering, ever since that night in Port Royal..." Ciel's body tensed at his words, though he kept his expression blank as he basked in the unpleasantness of the situation. He was already well aware of what Finnian was about to ask, and he couldn't fault him for his curiosity. He did, however, wish very much that he wouldn't ask such a question; he would prefer Finnian forget the circumstance entirely. He knew that wouldn't happen, though. Finnian had seen something he would never forget.

  
"Captain, I just- what happened? What _was_ that?"

  
Ciel didn't know what to say. Well, not exactly. Telling the truth was always the easiest option, wasn't it? Even if the truth was not always easy, as contradictory as those two statements might be. Sure, telling the truth was easy, it was the truth of the matter that was the difficult part, and Ciel inwardly punished himself over and over again for having to be in this situation at all. He could lie, which Finnian would probably expect him to do, anyway, but how did he lie about something like that? This wasn't a very explainable situation, and to lie he would have to weave so many intricate details together that they'd likely end up being more complicated than the truth. 

  
He felt his eyelids close without his will, and he was overcome with the vibrant scene he always saw whenever he closed his eyes. The deep blue of an expanding sky, decorated with the fluffiest white clouds he had ever seen. The sea had been so peaceful that day, the waves dancing to a blissful waltz as they lapped loving strokes against the ship. Crewmen bustled about with determination, each a master of his station, and hardworking day in and day out. They worked hard to maintain their ship, and she was a beautiful one. Her sails held strong against any gust the wind may attempt to throw her way, and her frame was sturdier than any ship Ciel had ever seen. She was more beautiful than most women, although the captain did not appreciate her quite to that extent, and that would give her a bite of envy. Any ship was sure to be envious when she wasn't the only female vying for attention.

  
It was bad luck to have a woman aboard, every pirate knew this, although he hadn't cared for the superstitious remark to pay it any heed. She was just as much part of the crew as he was, and he wouldn't dare tell her otherwise, nor would the remainder of the crew. She wore a thin, long, flowing white dress every day, although being aboard a pirate ship made it difficult to keep the fabric white. It was plain and did nothing to show off femininity, but this was likely due to the fact that it was her shift. The short sleeves clung to her thin arms and the waist of the plain garment was cinched just enough to differentiate her waist, and although it was a simple dressing gown, she always looked radiant. Her blonde locks flowed in the sea breeze as if the ocean wished to caress them itself, and for never being brushed, her hair flourished. The crew appreciated her beauty but never paused to goggle too long, no matter how long it had been since they'd seen a woman. A woman was a woman to a point, but they had sailed together so long that they regarded her as one of their own, even if she was much prettier than the rest of them.

  
The captain had fueled the jealousy of his ship by showing more adoration toward this gorgeous female sailor, until, eventually, even the ship herself begun to appreciate her presence aboard. They had a connection unlike any other, and the ship would practically purr underneath her touch, and brood whenever they were apart. They were part of one another and bonded through unexplainable terms. No one could understand it, but they could feel it. The ship was alive enough to let them know.

  
The night prior, she had twirled across the deck merrily, clapping her hands and stomping her feet as Frankie and Downey had graced the air with their music. This was not an uncommon occurrence; quite the opposite, every night they celebrated in the exact same way, and every night she danced mesmerizingly to the same old songs as if it was her first time hearing them.

  
Ciel could remember the passion of the captain, and the strength that backed up his every action. He wore a hat not unlike Ciel's own, and he stood tall and prideful, yet compassionate and humble around his crewmates. He was courageous enough to send them into battle with the poise of an experienced general, and concerned with their well being while alive and departed. He carried on the memory of many who had passed, and he did so proudly. He was one of the few men that kept his hair relatively short; why grow it out when his accomplishments were so long? He was a man who everyone could look up to in some way, pirate or naval officer. Therefore, it was rather predictable that he would earn the heart of an equally enchanting woman, one who refused to wait for him as he travelled the world pirating. Her heart desired nothing more than to be granted the thrill of a deep, passionate love and an ever-exilirating adventure. He was so infatuated that he couldn't refuse her request, and she, to the surprise of many, became a pirate that most could only dream of.

  
They had an ironclad determination to become the Robin Hood that they knew this world needed, and they would stop at nothing to drain every wealthy aristocrat's assets and give them to those who needed them most. They would pillage from those who needed no more, they would steal from those who wouldn't miss it. Then, every few months, they'd come ashore, and they'd grant the saving wish for someone who would surely die without it. A child starved for food, a body cold from withstanding the elements. They would save every poor soul they could. For being pirates, known as scum of the earth to some, it seemed that they were beloved by all.

  
It was such a random day for it to all be shattered into disrepair. There was no storm, no ominous thunder and lightning. There was no gut-wrenching dread that had been looming over their heads like a creature in the night. The ocean had not been tossing and turning sleeplessly, sending menacing bursts of seafoam rocketing toward the stratosphere. The sky had been bluer than ever. The clouds were so fluffy, it brought on feelings of ease and comfort. The sea was so mellow, it could've lulled a fussy infant to sleep in a heartbeat. Frankly, it had been a perfect day no matter how many hours were spent analyzing it. The perfect visage had been fractured so instantaneously.

  
Ciel remembered seeing his parents gaze so lovingly at one another. His mother's dress had gently caressed her ankles as she lifted herself at her maximum height, bracing herself on the tips of her toes as she wrapped her slender arms around his father's neck. He could hear them chuckling sweetly between one another, laughing as she adjusted his captain's hat and brushing a feather away from his face when it had begun to tickle his cheek. They very rarely lived without smiles on their faces. He had only heard his parents raise their voices on two occasions, his father shouting orders at his crew while his mother echoed the commands when their responses seemed delayed. For being pirates, their ship maintained quite a tranquil atmosphere at all times. This was the case on that day, as well, for everyone was meandering about casually as they waited on the arrival of their ally. His father had arranged a trade between another peaceful band of pirates, though they would not be meeting ashore. His parents' notoriety was at a dangerous level, and they couldn't risk being captured on land. Tortuga was a safe space, but they preferred to avoid the island as much as possible. Therefore, they would meet on sea, between recognizable twin rock formations. It was a simple task to merely toss lightweight crates across to another ship, and if they proved to be too heavy, they could easily lower a board to join the ships temporarily. The process would take minutes, if that, and then they'd be on their way.

  
He could hear fuzzy voices filling in the background noise, chatting about nothing in particular. The crew was just as laid back as his parents, who were continuing to make goo-goo eyes at one another. Ciel could remember kicking at the deck in a bored fashion, debating on what entertainment he might conjure up to keep himself preoccupied. Sailing on a ship did have its downsides, one of them being that the environment seldomly changed around you. With the exception of a storm or a land mass, the sea appeared just the same as it did every day, and there was only so much you could do on a ship after years of living on it. He loved his parents, and he loved the crew, for they treated him like family since the day he breathed his first breath. He wasn't fond of his lifestyle, however; thoughts of other children living their lives on land and never running out of new games to play or things to explore often left his mood soured. He wondered what it might be like to have friends his own age. He wondered what it might be like to have friends at all.

  
The appearance of a ship closing in on their location distacted him from his boredom. Ciel and the rest of the crew turned to regard their ally approaching. His parents finally broke their passionate staring to acknowledge the figure sailing closer, and they had smiled. Their faces looked so peaceful. Ciel remembered seeing black fabric slapping at the highest air it could reach, its colors flapping proudly in the wind. The design of a skull with crossing bones peeked in between its billowing. He recalled that the design was a perfect mimic of their own; the sign of a true ally. The scene commencing in Ciel's head played in a dreadful slow motion. He remembered his father's arms had loosened their grip around his mother's waist ever so slightly, an action he rarely liked to do. He could see a freeze frame of the effect every second had on his father's face, and he watched as what was once a content grin slowly twisted into a gape of pure distress. His mother's shimmering eyes lost their sparkle, their glowing blue washing into murkiness as they filled up with fearful tears. Ciel thought he heard a crescendo of gasps from the crew, and he could faintly hear his father scream in desperation. "Hoist the sails!"

  
His father's final syllable had been cut off by a deafening roar and the whiplash of an earth-shattering blow. The deck beneath Ciel's feet slid out from underneath him as the whole ship was riddled with cannon fire. The sound of sturdy wooden boards splintering forcibly like feeble toothpicks had scratched itself into Ciel's brain as a memory he couldn't forget, no matter how hard he tried. There was a chorus of screams, some of terror, some of agony. Ciel smashed his forehead against the trembling deck, his teeth biting down and splitting his lower lip in half out of surprise. A trickle of blood trailed down his jaw and gushed from his head, and his ears rung in protest. The deck trembled beneath him once more, and he clawed desperately at its surface, his nails attempting to cling on like a cat trying to avoid an unsavory fate. His fingers grasped at the slippery surface fruitlessly, and with another blow, the ship's deck severed, hurtling him into the cold water below.

  
His body hit the ocean like a sack of rocks, and bubbles scuttled out from between his swollen lips as the crash knocked the breath completely from his lungs. His ribs ached from the impact and his muscles had tightened themselves up all at once from the sudden rush of chill that squeezed at his insides. Ciel kicked frantically, his arms scrambling up and down as he clawed the water viciously, his adrenaline propelling him toward the surface. He sucked in a large gulp of air once he broke the water's tension, his chest burning intensely as he struggled to provide it with the oxygen it desired. His eyes fixated on the scene above him, barely recognizing the ship he knew as home. He watched as it was mercilessly torn apart by cannon balls, its magnificent frame crumbling into a mere shadow of what it once was. Bodies dropped into the sea haphazardly, and although Ciel watched intently, his anguish grew when he realised that none popped up to the surface. His heart lodged itself into his throat when he saw the body of Downey, his sternum ripped wide open, plopped into the water right before his eyes. His panic sent his breathing into overdrive and his limbs frantically slapped at the water as he attempted to keep his head above the darkness that threatened to pull him under. He scanned the side of the ship hopelessly, searching for any sign of his parents. It was possible they were still on the remaining parts of the deck that were still intact. It was possible they were already dead. Did they realise he had fallen overboard?

  
The questions that burned Ciel's mind would never be answered. He thrashed and fought the water with all of his might, but he could feel his body threatening to give up. The muscles in his legs had tensed to the point of cramping, his arms were begging to be relieved of their soreness. Ciel's breaths escaped in shallow pants as he became overcome with exertion. The water lapped at his jawline, licking his drying blood trail away. It rose to his lips, then started to creep toward his nostils. Ciel gave a final few thrust of his legs, propelling himself upwards as long as he possibly could, before his body utterly betrayed him. He held his breath for what seemed like hours, his lungs shuddering in pain and forcing him to suck in against his will. He remembered the salt water pouring into his orifices, suffocating him and seizing his respiratory system. He remembered screaming, although it had no sound. He remembered his conscience begging and pleading internally, beseeching the aid of anyone. He was not ready to die.

  
Tears pricked Ciel's eyes involuntarily, and he took a quick swipe at them with his finger. They continued to fester despite his protests, and though Finnian remained silent out of respect, it looked as if he was about to burst with worry. Ciel sucked in a shallow breath, thankful that he only tasted the dank air of the tavern when he inhaled. The memory was still so vivid in his mind; if he let himself get too wrapped up in it, he felt as if he could drown himself.

  
The last sensation Ciel felt was the cold of the sea. His body slowly began to numb itself as it sank lower into the frigid depths, the sun disappearing from view as his being entwined with the ocean. Everything was so dark, so unfeeling. It was like being aware while you were asleep, only there was no dream to take part in. His spirit did not feel at ease, he did not feel peace. He felt only the confusion of his circumstance, and a deep dread that had burrowed so thoroughly into his soul. He imagined that this was what most spirits had to feel as they subjected themselves to wandering this plane of existence forever: lost.

  
Quite suddenly, the illusion was destroyed. The blackness imploded, the numbness was snapped away and replaced with the most agonizing pain Ciel had ever felt. His eyes snapped open as he vomited up an endless spout of salt water, his chest spasming as his lungs forced themselves to breathe once more. His throat sizzled with a fiery soreness as remnants of the sea spilled from his mouth, an action that lasted for moments too long. Coughs wracked his body once he finally came toward the end of his heaving, and he curled his limbs around himself as shivers rattled his frame at his very core. His eyes burned from their dryness, and he scratched at them in hopes of removing the salt that had caked across their surface. Blinking, his extremely hazy vision started to reform itself leisurely. His fuzzy surroundings revealed itself, and he realised that he was perched on the deck of a ship, though how he got there, he didn't know. He could hear the familiar sounds of voices but couldn't make out their meaning; his ears still felt as if they were plugged up to the brim with water. He could feel a slight tremble in the boards beneath him from heavy footsteps, and a figure craned his neck toward Ciel so they could regard one another at an even level. His eyesight didn't have to be perfect to determine who stood before him, and they widened in terror and comprehension.

  
His bumpy skin was slimy and damp, moisturized adequately by the ocean's essence. Flowing tendrils furled themselves upon his chest, the tentacles sliding against one another as they each slithered in their own directions. Barnacles had embedded themselves anywhere they possibly could, down to his last remaining foot all the way up to his intimidating tricorn, which had a distinguishable split down its center. His claw-like appendage clacked in anticipation, and his murky blue eyes, perhaps the very last surviving feature of his human self, stared curiously into Ciel's own. "What do we have here? A child lost at sea who's desperate enough to call out my name?"

  
Ciel couldn't help but flinch back in terror, his muscles convulsing violently from his fear. He was wracked with a sharp wince as salty spittle rained upon his face from the words spoken to him. His throat was so sore from inhaling sea water that he barely had a voice left, and yet he managed to choke out a raspy whisper full of disbelief. "Davy Jones," he croaked bluntly, as if trying to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming, or that, perhaps, he hadn't gone to Hell on his way to the afterlife.

  
Jones narrowed his eyes into a steely glare, his tentacles flaring out all at once in threatening angles. His face slithered closer to Ciel's, making up the distance that had been lost due to the boy's recoiling. He let out a deep, crackling breath that reeked of the stench of death. Ciel could practically taste the despair of a great many souls who had been lost at sea, souls who hadn't been properly ferried to the other side. He could smell their misery, their ultimate demise lingering on his breath. Countless people who were once alive culminated into this potent scent, as if they haunted Jones to this day for not helping them toward their final rest. _"You_ summoned _me,"_ Jones growled, making his displeasure for Ciel's reactions quite clear. "Do not dare to run away from the fate you so pathetically begged for."

  
Ciel had been so confused as to the chain of events that had been unraveling before him; had he died? Was he experiencing Hell? Did he live, and was he just hallucinating if so? Or, on a different train of thought altogether, did none of the violence he witnessed happen? Perhaps he was still sleeping, having a horrific nightmare, and eventually a crewmate would be shaking him awake and scolding him for having slept so long when there's work to be done. He hadn't known what to believe, but all so suddenly, it clicked in his head. Yes, this _was_ happening, and this was _his_ fault. His father had told him many tales of the sea, and Davy Jones had been a frequent topic of these bedtime yarns he spun. He had told him stories of cowardly sailors who were afraid of their deaths, vengeful spirits who did not believe it was their time to pass on, and innocent souls deceitfully ensnared by a deal with the devil. These sailors begged for their lives, they begged for vengeance, they begged for something better. Davy Jones always delivered, but for such a high price. Servitude on the _Dutchman_ was his asking, and many took the deal without hesitation. Selling your soul should never be something taken lightly, and though that may seem common sense, a sailor's sense was not often common. His father warned him about these types of agreements, stressing that any bargain should be made unless your soul was in question. Yet, here Ciel sat, realising now that he was aboard the infamous _Flying Dutchman_ with Davy Jones mere inches away from him. He had summoned him. Ciel remembered the flurry of panicked thoughts that had raced through his head as he felt his body starting to drown. _I don't want to die. Please, don't let me die. Someone help me. Anyone, please help me._

  
Ciel lifted his gaze slowly, his eyes hesitant to meet Davy Jones' but he did so, nevertheless. His expression was still contorted in a dark anger, a bomb ready to blow at any wrong movement. He didn't have to remember his father's stories to know that Jones was as tempered and merciless as one could get, and he knew he had to play his cards carefully to escape this encounter relatively unscathed. "Does this mean I'm dead?"

  
Jones lurched away from him as he let out a guttural guffaw, his tentacles swaying as he straightened his spine back to his full height. There were crewmates behind Jones, Ciel noticed, who joined in on his amused laughter. They were just as monstrous as Jones, each resembling a different sea creature of their own. He could see a hammerhead, a mako, and an eel, just to name a few. Every man -- or creature, rather -- besides Ciel himself, had been turned into a thing of nightmares. No longer did they resemble anything close to human, and fresh barnacles grew in clumps down their cheeks, arms, torsos, and lower extremities. Ciel felt a slight twinge of pity for these individuals turned into beasts, but his fear greatly outweighed this emotion. "Clearly you're not, or you wouldn't be sitting here, would you?" Jones mocked, laughter still echoing after his every word.

  
"What about my parents?" Ciel dared to ask, and a dark cloud overshadowed his heart once he saw Jones smirk spitefully. He leaned down toward him once more, and Ciel had to brace himself to prevent coughing from his rancid breath. He could sense what was coming next, but he was not prepared for it.

  
"Dead." He whispered simply, letting out another hearty chuckle when he saw tears pool in Ciel's eyes. "They died the way they lived: _pathetically."_

  
Anger threatened to take hold, but Ciel bit it back as best he could. He'd known there was a slim chance that his parents had survived, but the reality hadn't sunk in quite yet. Now, he was forced to face the facts. He was an orphan. A pirate orphan. He had been moments away from death, and now he sat here on a ghost ship, stranded in the middle of the ocean. Where would he go? What could he do? He had nothing left. His parents were dead. He had watched as their ship was obliterated by someone they believed to be their ally, though he did not know who. He internally berated himself for accidentally summoning Jones in his time of crisis. He should've just passed on with his parents. Why did he have to fight death? Why couldn't he have just accepted his fate?

  
Jones evidently could perceive Ciel's struggle, as his laughter started up again. Anger tugged at Ciel's surface once more, and this time, he could not hold it back. "Why am I here?" He questioned with a bite, one he immediately regretted. Jones' laughter was replaced with a roar, and he drew his sword in one fluid motion. The darkened, gritty blade was at Ciel's throat in an instant, and his terror returned.

Jones scowled down at him with pure fury, and Ciel knew his next words would determine if he left this ship alive or would die with no purpose. "We have been over this, Ciel Phantomhive. You will leave my ship with a deal or you will leave my ship _dead."_

  
Hearing his full name made his blood run cold, and Ciel gulped nervously, the length of Jones' blade bobbing with the action. He remained quiet as he considered his strategy, then he spoke. "I did not summon you to _not_ make a deal. Let us flesh out the details."

  
His tightened muscles relaxed slightly as Jones withdrew his sword, his attention now redirected to the situation at hand. He cocked an interested eyebrow. "I'm listening," he hissed, stray drops of moisture escaping his lips.

  
Ciel was in an interesting position. He had known, in his moment of drowning, that he did not want to die. He was now bargaining with Davy Jones himself on conditions of his survival, but for the life of him, he did not know what he wanted. He knew Jones wanted his soul, and he knew that he had not been ready to drown in the sea beside his parents' sinking ship. He would ask for the only thing in his mind that made sense. "I want revenge for my parents' deaths. I wish to find the person responsible."

  
Chuckles spread throughout Davy Jones' crew, but Jones himself was stoic as he heard Ciel's wishes. It was clear that he handled his deals very, very seriously. "You want to find the person who killed your parents?" He reiterated, but Ciel was not done.

  
"I will need their ship. It was sunk along with them. I will need their ship back to carry out my revenge."

  
His crew fell silent upon hearing Ciel's demands, and Jones appeared annoyed at his ongoing requests. His eyebrows furrowed and he bent down toward Ciel once again, an action that seemed to be a favorite of Jones. "And how long will this... _quest_ for revenge go on?"

  
Sensing the captain's testiness, Ciel was reluctant to answer. If he had his way, he'd dedicate the rest of his life to pursuing his parents' murderer, but he had a feeling that Jones would not be so kind as to grant him such a flexible request. He had to ensure he allowed himself enough time to search for this individual, but how was he supposed to know the proper length of time? He was still considered a child, and to his disdain, there was a lot he did not know. How would he be able to determine the amount of time this would take?

  
Jones was growing more and more displeased with Ciel's silence, to the point where he was bordering on rage again. Not wanting the risk of the captain's sword meeting his neck a second time, Ciel blurted out "thirteen years."

  
It was an odd number, and Ciel had no idea where he came up with it. At that moment, he couldn't determine if he truly thought it was a decent amount of time or not. In the end, though, Jones seemed pleased that he had finally come to a decision, and he gave a curt nod. "Thirteen years. You'll have their ship. In exchange, one hundred years of servitude."

  
Ciel nodded his head without a consideration. He was already in too deep to back out now, and in the end, he knew Jones would have his soul one way or another. If he could find retribution for his mother and father, he felt that his soul was a measly currency to exchange. They deserved that much, at least. They deserved justice, and who better to fetch it for them than their son?

  
"We have an agreement, then, Ciel Phantomhive," Jones snarled, extending his hand. His index finger had been replaced with a long and curling tentacle, its slimy body wriggling in anticipation. Ciel slowly reached his hand forward until it met with Jones', and the tentacle wrapped itself around Ciel's entirely. "Oh, there is another part of the bargain I forgot to mention," Jones chuckled slyly. Ciel's heart sped up to a dangerous rhythm, his complexion paling as fear prodded at his core. "You are making a deal with the devil, and there are, well, side effects." Jones' laughter was tinged with utter mirth as his tentacle crushed Ciel's hand in a viselike grip. Ciel let out a scream as his hand _popped_ and _crunched_ in agony. Within mere seconds, a unique but awful burning sensation spread throughout his right eye. He attempted to clutch at it to nurse his pain, but Jones kept strong hold on his hand, his chortling amplifying as Ciel's pain did, as well. He had never felt such torture, and he was desperate to relieve himself of his torment, even if that meant gouging his eye out with his own hands. Tears of magma streamed down his cheekbone and sizzled a trail down the skin it touched. He was going blind. Just when the pain reached a level so great he would've begged to go back to drowning, it was gone. Everything went black, and his body hit the deck with a thud.

  
Finnian was listening with bated breath, his green irises unblinking as he soaked in every moment. Ciel sat there, catatonic, as if he had just reawoken to the world. He could relive the events more vividly than a dream, and somehow he hadn't turned into a seizing mess while he was deeply lost in his past trauma. His brain slowly began to work itself out of its stupor, like an insect who had been in a deep freeze for months on end and was gradually beginning to thaw in the spring warmth. He squinted his eyes and shook his head slightly, his hand lifting to massage his right temple. His head had a slight throb to it from conjuring up such a lifelike reimagining, and it felt like his energy had been sapped right from his soul. His dulled pupils came back to life at a leisurely pace. Once he remembered all that had happened since then and where he was at, he met Finnian's stare, flashing him a sympathetic smile; the boy looked like he was ready to pass out from sheer angst.

  
"Sorry, mate," Ciel croaked, his voice seeming oddly strained. He knew he had been rambling on this entire time, but it had felt like someone else explaining the situation. He just now felt in control of himself again. "It brings me back when I recall it in detail. It's like the curse forces me to relive it because it knows I wish to forget."

  
"What happened after that?" Finnian blurted, his anticipation winding him up tighter than a spring. Ciel let out a soft chuckle at the sight. He was happy that experiencing his trauma from the beginning hadn't been for nothing; at least Finnian was completely enraptured by the story.

  
"I woke up on the deck of my parents' ship. She was very different. For one thing, her colors were stained by the darkest black you've ever seen. Imagine that's due to her having been resurrected from the dead. Renamed her the _Black Pearl,_ I did; it fit her more after she'd went through such a plight." Finnian's eyes grew to the size of saucers upon hearing the backstory of the _Pearl._ Ciel took a swig out of the tankard that now sat in front of him, wincing at the watered down taste. These were hard times, indeed. "Me hand was fine. Eye was no different. Well, at least it wasn't at first. Didn't know where to start searchin' for information on my parents. Just did my best to pilot the _Pearl_ to shore and scrounge up a crew."

  
Finnian bit his lip in uncertainty, unasked questions swimming behind his eyes like sharks circling a seal. He was consistently afraid to overstep his boundaries with his captain, but it seemed like Ciel's outpouring was enough to restore confidence in him, for he voiced a curiosity. "What did this have to do with what happened in Port Royal? And when Jones mentioned a catch to the deal, what did he mean?"

  
Ciel took another drink, though he didn't know why. He could chase a stronger alcohol high just by sniffing a passerby on the streets, at this rate. Usually Tortuga would provide stronger liquor than this, and he needed it. "I s'pose they go hand-in-hand. Jones curses every unfortunate soul who strikes a deal with him, it's just his way. My curse happens to affect my right eye," he stated, his fingers tapping the bar anxiously. He could lie about this next part. What good would it do to tell the truth about it, anyway? It was a scary thing, his curse, and Finnian would likely believe anything he said at this point, giving that he was so honest about everything else. He wasn't sure if it mattered to cover the truth after all he had already spilled. He hadn't ever spoken this aloud to a single soul before. Finnian would be the only other person on earth to know of Ciel's curse, and what it entailed. "It allows me to see into the future of someone and how it all ends. I can see how they'll die."

  
Finnian's expression went from one of curiosity to one plagued by illness. He paled, his brow beaded with sweat. He appeared nauseous and Ciel wondered if he would blow chunks across the bar and cover the barkeep with it, which would end in a swordfight, no doubt. It was silent between the two men for what felt like ages; Ciel half expected a spiderweb to connect his tankard to the surface of the bar underneath it. He didn't know what his endgame was at this point. There was a very high probability that he scared the sense into Finnian, and now the boy wondered why he ever agreed to sail with Ciel in the first place. He could panic and attempt to kill him, in which case Ciel would have to unfortunately slay his once considered ally. Or, perhaps, Finnian would demand that Ciel escort him back to Port Royal, where he would resume life as a marine and likely attempt to hang Ciel for piracy. This situation would end in Finnian's death, as well.

  
Instead, a very meek voice whispered another question. "How does it work?"

  
Ciel sighed, his eyes staring down into his drink. He was afraid to look at Finnian, so he kept his gaze plastered to the second most interesting thing in the tavern. "I can't control it. If I could, ye could bet I'd win every swordfight blindfolded and knackered. I can't choose whose death to see, and I can't stop it when it overcomes me. Aye, it's very painful when it happens. Feels like my eye is melting from my head. It changes color, you see. Looks out of this world, as you very well know. I've seen a lot of lads' demises that I'd rather unsee, some I've been privy to when it's happened. I've confirmed it for meself that it's real, and it's mighty accurate. And it's jarring in many ways, which is what Jones wanted."

  
Just as quiet as the last, Finnian's words came out so softly that Ciel had to process if he heard correctly. "Was that my death you saw in Port Royal?"

  
Ciel's eyes darkened at the question. There were many reasons why he kept his curse a secret. The most obvious ones being that it would terrify a great many people, as it should. Power hungry individuals might consider it a weapon in disguise and try to use Ciel for their own interests. However, as he truthfully stated to Finnian, there was no controlling his unfortunate circumstance, hence the term 'curse.' He also kept it a secret because it was an unforgiving hardship; one could never imagine how agonizing the burden was to know how someone was meant to pass, and to be powerless to stop it. This was not a gift of time travel, but more of a taunting glimpse of what was to come. Jones knew Ciel's true wish was to save the souls of his parents, and this curse was Jones' way of informing him _you can't save everybody._ Ciel had tried, at first, to prevent the futures he was forced to learn of. No matter if he tried to save someone from choking, throw a rope down to a man drowning, toss every last bottle of rum overboard to prevent the alcohol poisoning of not only a sailor but a friend, fate managed to find a way every time. They always died the way they were supposed to, and Ciel would continue to have no power in changing that fact.

  
He finally glanced over at Finnian, noticing that the boy's condition had worsened. His skin was a sickly grey hue, his eyes were watery with fear and his thin frame was trembling with the dread of what Ciel would say next. Similar to how Ciel felt on that memorable day while he was losing his last breath of air, Finnian was afraid to die. Ciel felt regret deep in the pit of his stomach. He never should have recruited him. Pirates seldom had happy endings, if any had in history. He now saw how desperate Finnian was for his own happy ending, and he knew that while he was in Ciel's company, he'd never have it. "No," Ciel reassured him, his eyes softening as his pity for the lad refused to waver. "I saw the commodore's death." 

  
As soon as the words left his lips, Ciel slid off his stool and planted his feet on the ground. He was sure Finnian had more questions, but they didn't matter right now; Ciel had done enough talking for his lifetime. He gave Finnian's shoulder a gentle pat, encouraging the boy to get to his feet. "Let's go, lad. Got a few more errands need running before we scout out our crew."

  
Shock had settled into Finnian at Ciel's proclamation, but he managed to stand. Ciel was grateful that he appeared less queasy than before. They left the tavern and returned to the fresh air, Ciel putting on a brave face as he tried to return Finnian to his former glory. Internally, Ciel's innards were twisting themselves up into a tight ball of distress. There were a few details he left out of his explanation to Finnian; namely, his statement concerning the thirteen years Jones allowed him to avenge his parents. He hadn't mentioned it, but the truth nagged at the back of his mind, reminding him of his predicament. His thirteen years were almost up. Soon, he'd be summoned. He would have no choice but to serve Jones once he called upon him, for if he refused, well... The thought made him shiver. He could remember what his father told him about the sailors who refused Jones' beckoning, and he did not wish that fate upon himself. Still, he was no closer to finding the truth about his parents than he was the night he struck his bargain. He couldn't imagine selling his soul for naught. He wouldn't allow it. He would find a way around Jones, one way or another, he told himself. That meant he'd have to beat death entirely. He buried these concerns as far down as he possibly could. He had to brighten up so Finnian wouldn't feed off of his negative emotions, and he couldn't have his only ally buckle on him now. They had a crew to find. 


End file.
